The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 287: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

270 REYNOLDS’ WORKS all her empire over the ill-conditioned mind of the guilty young man, he at once held his peace. Lord Harold followed her ladyship out into the hall, and said, in a low, hurried, anxious whisper, “‘ What do you think of Deveril’s presence here? ”’ | ‘“T know not,’ she responded, her own eyes glittering with uneasiness, ‘‘ but still I hope that no public exposure of last night’s proceedings has taken place. If so, William Deveril would scarcely call upon me. His presence here seems indicative of a desire to save that exposure, but it is evident my name has been disagreeably mixed up in the transaction. Remain you quiet until I rejoin you.’’ Lord Harold returned into the parlour, while Lady Sax- ondale ascended to the drawing-room. She was filled with a nervous anxiety, which not all the natural strength of her mind could repress. She had not told Lord Harold the full extent of what she apprehended from Deveril’s visit. Her eullty soul was smitten with the horrible thought that Madge Somers had possibly revealed her secret, but if so, the reader may still understand that she was utterly una- ware that William Deveril was her own son. She proceeded to the drawing-room, assuming as well as she was able that dignified hauteur and calm stateliness of demeanour which she was wont to wear, and beneath which she was so often enabled to conceal the agitation of her soul. The moment she opened the door, she perceived Deveril standing near a window, and with his back toward her. Not that our young hero was. gazing forth upon any particular object; he was looking on vacancy, for all his powers of vision were, so to speak, turned inwardly, to the contemplation of the varied emotions and thoughts that were excited in his breast. He was about to stand once more in the presence of her who had been a bitter and a remorseless enemy to him, but whom he now knew to be the authoress of his being. No marvel, then, if his soul were thus agitated; he felt that the interview about to take place was one of no ordinary character. He did not hear the door open, so absorbed was he in his meditations, and it was not until the sounds of footsteps close behind him fell upon his ear that he turned abruptly, thus finding himself face to face with Lady Saxondale. His countenance was exceeding pale, but inscrutable in its CONNIE IOOKS (E(0)